


The Flashdance Protocols

by KittyViolet



Category: New Mutants, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/F, Library Sex, Meta, Movie Night, Multi, Tail Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyViolet/pseuds/KittyViolet
Summary: You're not exactly the girl from that movie your friends saw. But your best friend doesn't mind.





	The Flashdance Protocols

There’s nobody in the library but Kitty when Illyana walks in looking for her, which isn’t surprising—it’s a big mansion with plenty of places to go, and if there’s going to be exactly one mutant in the library on Saturday afternoon, who else would it be? So Illyana is hardly surprised to see her best friend perched on a chair, neither sitting nor standing, with some sort of manual on the roll-top desk—maybe a programming language? it looks un-literary and textbook-y and sans-serif and yes, it’s spiral bound.

The surprise is how Kitty is moving her body: seen from behind, she’s neither leaning into the text she’s reading, nor leaning away from it, as if tired of homework. Instead she’s squirming, moving her elbows and shoulders sideways, as if she were trying to wriggle out of that oversize sweater but the sweater had other ideas.

Is Kitty wearing anything under that sweater? There’s something—a leotard? no, more like a thin T-shirt, the kind she sleeps in, but she’s shrugged that T-shirt off already, so that it’s wrapped like a scarf around her waist, visible under the hem of the sweater, and above it, under the sweater, nothing at all? Illyana is straining to see all she can see before she’s seen—

“Mmmmfff,” says Kitty, as if she held a feather in her mouth. “Movie stars. Dance professionals.” And then she pauses, speaking softly and to herself, “Typical Kitty. I can learn to fly the fastest plane, execute a zero information loss sort routine in B++ with redundancy minimized, and dodge a dozen projectiles in the Danger Room, but can I do this without phasing? not a chance.” And then she pauses, “Maybe you have to be a real dancer, or famous. Or just--- mmffff—a normal girl.”

Illyana’s not literally a mind reader—more like the reverse: no one can read her mind—but with her best friend she can come close. Especially now that they’re so close, these last few weeks, their best weeks yet. And double especially now that Illyana’s so physically close that she could startle Kitty with a touch. Which she knows not to do.

“Way to keep your guard up, X-Man,” Illyana half-whispers, her chin close to Kitty’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Kitty speaks the word, half turns, pecks Illyana on the nose (she was aiming for the cheek, or maybe the lips, but the Russian girl turned a bit), and then returns to her squirming.

“It’s that movie you saw with the rest of your dance class, isn’t it?” Illyana says. “I haven’t seen it but I remember when you came home from it, and then Dani saw it too and she said—“

“—in front of Roberto, in fact.” Kitty blushes remembering it. “That there was a lot of dancing and a cheeseball love story and a scene that people were talking about who hadn’t even seen the movie.”

“That scene,” Illyana says. “Where the lead, who is a dancer, takes off her bra without taking off anything else and just slides it out through one arm of her sweater, and there’s a guy watching and he’s impressed by how well she can control what her body can do .”

“I wanted to learn how to do it.”

“Without phasing?”

“Without phasing.”

“And?”

“Well.” Kitty blushes harder. She’s coordinated and then some when she’s concentrating, when she’s learning a plié from Stevie Hunter or when she’s phasing into the floor to dodge and trip up the adversary of the week. But in daily life, she’s an almost-grown girl with her head full of elves and command lines who regularly walks into doorframes, hockey-checks her friends by accident, and trips over her own two feet.

Or over her bra. “I admit it,” Kitty says. “I cannot do this.” Then she elbows her roommate in the ribs.

There’s apparently a strap caught in Kitty’s forearm—she never unhooked the bra before trying to get an arm out of it, so it has turned into a sort of very awkward harness, especially since it’s the new one with the double straps and three hooks in the back, not two; Illyana remembers Kitty looking at herself in the bureau mirror last Sunday and saying “I’m almost not bad!” She’d been flat for so long and disliked it. Now she was… not flat. And not about to pass up a chance to do what a cool movie said she should learn how to do. But she wasn’t doing it.

Waving one arm helplessly through her sweater’s broad collar, Kitty overbalances and almost falls into the rolltop desk. Illyana catches her, though, and steadies her under her arms. “I don’t think it’s working out yet,” Illyana says. “Also you are not that actor. Jennifer Beals.” She pronounces it “bowls.”

“What’s a Jennifer Bowl?” Kitty asks. “Don’t answer that. Ow! Oh. Thanks!” Apparently Kitty’s determined not to phase, so Magik has to reach under the sweater, with its soft synthetic smoother-than-wool and its coarse, almost hand-knit weave, and Magik has to undo the bra at the back, and Magik has to work the tangled straps over and under and out around Kitty’s right elbow, until it’s no longer a trap, at which point Magik’s hand is right below Kitty’s right breast.

“Oh,” Kitty says. “That’s cool.”

“Do you mean that my hand is too cold?” Illyana asks, slightly surprised.

“No. Kind of the opposite of that. Ooh!” Illyana’s hand is pressing against the side of Kitty’s bare breast, now the untangled bra has fallen away; as her hand warms up to Kitty’s body temperature, her fingers move up until they’re over her right nipple, which they start manipulating, very slowly, then not so slow.

“That is not fair,” Kitty says, “to my left side.” Illyana slides her other hand under the sweater but over the rolled-down soft T-shirt, cupping it over her friend’s left breast. “Are we, you know, alone?”

Magik leans forward to balance herself as her tail whips out and tries a doorknob. It’s locked, and the only way into this part of the library would rattle the glass double doors in front of the pair before they could be seen. The glass looks out into a empty vestibule. Not private, maybe, but private enough.

“I do not think I’d enjoy that movie,” Illyana says, “but I hear there are dance moves in it that we could try.” She's playful and serious at the same time, and intense: that's one of the things Kitty love about her. Now Kitty presses gently backwards into her friend, and Illyana presses forward, moving a little from side to side, so that Kitty’s butt is almost in Illyana’s lap. Now they’re moving together, as if to some kind of beat that nobody could hear, even as Illyana’s hands are still moving over Kitty’s breasts, both of them now touching, gently, so gently moving across the areola, the disc, the raised part of each nipple.

“I don’t think those are dance moves,” Kitty says. She’s got nothing but leggings on under the sweater; Illyana is wearing bright red jeans, strawberry-red jeans.

“They’re moves, though.”

“You—you’re putting the moves on me!”

“Did I get the idiom wrong?”

“No, that’s right. Do we want to move?”

“Let’s stay right here. I want to try another… move.” And Illyana’s tail flicks so that it’s out in front of them both, then doubles back so that it’s headed… directly for Kitty’s leggings. For the space (now growing wet; there’s a wet spot there) between her legs.

llyana settles the triangular, wedge-shaped end of her tail across that spot and presses down gently with the flatness. (Apparently the tail can manifest right through Illyana's street clothes! It's magic, after all.) As the wedge presses down, Kitty gets wetter and wetter. These leggings are not going to survive the experience.

“Oh!” Kitty says, as Illyana flexes the end of her tail, turning the wedge shape slightly, slowly, back and forth over her mound, over the leggings, keeping both her hands on Kitty’s bare breasts, leaning forward over Kitty’s shoulder in order to lick, briefly, slightly, Kitty’s ear. She can feel the top button on Illyana’s cloth button-down shirt up against the back of her neck; Illyana’s straight hair touches Kitty’s curls.

Should Kitty reciprocate? Could Kitty reciprocate? How? She is the little spoon in this situation, except standing up, which most spoons do not do.

She leans back and into Illyana, still standing up—there is nowhere for them both to sit down or lie down without breaking this connection—and she surrenders, lets herself be held, nuzzled, stroked. Illyana’s tail makes an S-curve between Kitty’s legs, rubs into her, shifts up and down. It’s like they’re sharing it; like the tail belongs to them both. The rubbing gets harder. The tail itself gets—thicker? More serious? How can a tail be serious? That’s not right. 

Kitty has to be careful not to phase backwards through Illyana: it takes all her concentration to keep herself literally together, solid enough to enjoy the hands, the tail, the being held, the way that tail has rubbed her in and around and presses itself up into her cleft, where she’s getting so wet she feels sticky, but it’s a good kind of sticky, her lips part, the other part lips can have yes touch—

She’s so aroused it’s affecting her language, which is a state Kitty likes: sometimes it’s the best thing in the world to put your body into the hands of someone else, to say “I feel my feelings, but my choices: they’re yours. I trust you. Do what you like.” It’s like Illyana is speaking to her in machine language, like she’s taken over Kitty’s operating system, like—

Ilya’s tail points up and out now, out from Kitty's body, toward the closed and locked glass double doors. And Kitty is thinking about how her best friend holds her and tickles her and keeps her safe and they do that for each other, and about how she’s surrendered so much so happily to her best friend, but also about whether anybody else who saw that movie might be watching now, might have been watching, might get excited too, might have been thinking about Kitty and Illya, or Kitty and somebody else, or Jennifer Bowls—

Kitty has never ever wanted to kiss Roberto and probably never will (there are guys she’d totally kiss but not him) and yet there’s something exciting about how fast, how often, he gets excited: excited in the sense of enthusiastic, but also excited in the sense of obviously turned on. What if he were watching? What if Illyana had arranged for that, to give him lessons so when he was next with a girl he would know what to do? (What if Illyana and Dani had both arranged for that?) What if she were using her tail and pointing her tail at him (but really he wouldn’t even know she could use her tail that way, Kitty is totally making this up) and what if he were pointing his… you know…. back at her? at them both? What if he couldn’t help it, what if Illyana was using her tail to tell, to show, him what to do to himself?

Kitty imagines how helpless her impetuous teammate could get, imagines him losing it suddenly, gushing, falling backwards as he spurts all over the place from watching them both (this won’t happen, she doesn’t want it to happen, she just likes imagining it, what she wants for real is Illyana’s arms, and Illyana’s hands, and Illyana’s tail) and then Kitty is gushing, opening up so much that her thighs are suddenly together, tight, pulsing around the shaft of Illyana's pulsing tail, their whole bodies suddenly, gloriously, together, and then Kitty goes limp, sleepy-limp in her friend’s strong arms.

**Author's Note:**

> You too can watch the scene Kitty and Berto and Dani and some of the other New Mutants have seen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2u8cHrJvlHQ The comics corresponding to this phase of their lives came out more or less around the same time that the movie came out in our world, but of course the chronologies may not exactly align.


End file.
